Sacred and Revered
by Vyke95
Summary: Ivan had spent all his years isolated in the woods, devoting his life to the gods. He was the notorious witch doctor that parents told their children about, warning them of his inhumane rituals. One day he'd stumbled upon a naked boy on one of his hunts, the incarnate of his beloved sun god. Unfortunately, the boy doesn't know it yet. Ivan is set on reminding him. Rusame. Slash. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: minor self-harm for ritualistic/worship purposes**

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_He should have offered more to the wind god._

Blustering gusts of air rampaged the sides of his hut, howling against the sturdy obstacle. They were stronger than usual, and Ivan could sense a sinister disturbance, but there was little he could do at that moment. He had faith that his home in the trees could stand against the wind, and that the gods would be merciful to their most devoted servant.

Though he could not stop the tormenting winds that plundered the sides of his home, Ivan prayed for his own salvation. Rumbling chants in an ancient language tumbled from his painted lips, his amethyst eyes half-shut as he fumbled with a match. He lit the wicks of several candles placed in a semicircle around a shrine, several carved figurines from the finest wood sitting upon the pedestal. Representations of the god of wind. His offering was late, but the witch doctor hoped that his efforts would yield forgiveness.

Ivan remained on his knees, for standing taller than his gods while he was in the act of worship would be an undeniable sign of disrespect, and pressed his forehead as far down as he could go, showing his humility. Prayers and chants continued to roll off his tongue as he attempted to assuage his misdeeds. The smell of incense and herbs clouded the room, white smoke wafting up to the ceiling. Spirit cleansers. It would be indecent to come before the gods putrid and dirty. His long, black fingernails scraped against the wooden floor in front of him, his arms outstretched as he bowed. He was unworthy to approach the gods in any other manner.

Eventually everything began to feel lighter, his mind cleared, touched by the influence of the gods. Whispering soft praises to the wind god, Ivan slowly began to put out the candles. The wind was still howling, but no longer could Ivan hear the ominous, distraught curses that underlied its tone. The wind god was pleased for now. Ivan would just have to offer a better sacrifice during the next ritual. A larger fowl than the last. Maybe he could find an eagle.

Ivan emerged from the room, pulling the white hide that served as a door over the entranceway. He kept the shrines of the gods separate from the rest of his home, for they deserved their own holy destination. Being in the same room with his meager belongings and human necessities would be an insult towards their dominant and deserved power. There was only one god who dwelled in his home, but it was for another reason entirely.

It was for devotion.

All of the gods were important. All of them deserved worship and praise, offerings, sacrifice. But some were more important than others, and every true follower of the gods had one that they put above all the rest. Ivan's main god was the god of the sun, fire, and heat. As he provided Ivan with what he desired most in such a cold and dismal environment, he deserved to be incorporated into every aspect of Ivan's life. As a sign of Ivan's devotion, he placed a shrine of the sun god within the main room of his home as well as built a separate room outside of his house for the god specifically. With his every action, regardless of where he went, the sun god was always in Ivan's sight, and, therefore, forever in his mind.

Ivan approached the shrine of the sun god, his eyes downcast in reverence. This shrine was different than the others, more lavish, more expensive. The figure of the sun god was cast from the purest gold, something that Ivan had spent countless hours creating. It was intricate, detailed, with jewels lacing its lustrous body. Fine metals, exotic feathers, beautiful silks and beads, pottery, things that Ivan had either found in nature or had traded with the villagers for were placed around the altar. Sunflowers surrounded the figure in yellow, and painted human skulls from several sacrifices lined the back wall. Ivan made sure to replace his offerings regularly, for the sun god was the ficklest of flames and constantly desired new gifts and reassurances of his followers' devotion.

Burning a few candles, Ivan prayed to his cherished god, different prayers this time. These prayers were of love and praise, subservience rather than a plea for forgiveness. A small smile tinged his lips as he plucked the petals off of one of his sunflowers, placing them in the bowl before the altar. Picking up a knife designed for a singular purpose, Ivan dragged the sharpened blade across the pads of his fingers, the crimson fluid flowing quickly from his cuts and dripping onto the golden petals. Once the flower had been dyed a dark shade of red, Ivan lit one last match and burned the offering. His god was a bloodthirsty one. Nothing less than a human sacrifice would satisfy him.

Once the man had finished his ritual, Ivan left the altar and began to undress. He removed the pelts from his back, his numerous beaded necklaces, the bones and feathers he wore both around his neck and in his hair. He washed away the red and black markings from his body and face; he'd re-apply them in the morning, as he always did. Feeling at equilibrium, a neutral balance hanging in the air, Ivan deemed it suitable for him to retire for the evening. He climbed into his mound of pelts and hides and feathers and wool and drifted off to sleep, knowing that the gods had been satisfied for the night.

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It was always so difficult finding a human sacrifice. Ivan had noticed that he'd been having to venture out further and further from his cottage in order to find them. It wasn't uncommon for Ivan to search for days before he stumbled upon a human suitable for sacrifice. The villagers had long been aware of his practices out in the woods and had unfortunately urged their young ones not to wander too far off from home. It was a piteous and pious choice. His devotion and reverence was what kept the villagers from the wrath of the gods, the least they could do was offer one of their own every once in a while.

But alas, the humans only seemed to approach him during trade or when they needed his aid with potions and spells and the like. They otherwise left him alone to his work without disturbance. At least they didn't seek revenge for their fallen brethren. They weren't stupid enough to hunt down a witch doctor. Although they wouldn't offer up their own sacrifice, they understood his pivotal role in their existence and knew his disappearance would not only yield a bad omen, but chaos onto their people.

His amethyst eyes scoured the forest floor, searching for signs of human presence. Footprints, hair, articles, items, fires, any sort of trace. It was a tedious task, but Ivan attempted to offer up a human to the sun god once a month. Any more would be a strenuous burden on top of his multiple other tasks, any less would yield wrath from his impatient master.

Eventually his efforts were rewarded. He spotted a patch of peachy flesh out in the distance, lying in the dirt, covered partially by foliage. He silently thanked the gods for his detection skills and sharp eyes, for he wouldn't have noticed the figure off in the distance without them. He honed in on the poor creature, approaching him stealthily and rapidly in an effort to capture the human without struggle. Ivan didn't want his prey to flee the scene due to his carelessness.

The first thing Ivan noticed was that the human was absolutely naked. He was curled up into a fetal position, his knees tucked up against his chest as he lied on his side. Ivan would say it was quite endearing, but worrisome. Humans didn't normally trek into the woods without proper clothing, and they certainly didn't sleep in the dirt with their bodies bare to the elements. His brow contorted in confusion, the witch doctor approached the boy with caution. He hoped he hadn't stumbled upon a _murder_ victim. That would be a wasteful death.

However, once the witch doctor had gotten within an arm's reach of the boy, a small smile played at his lips. The human was _warm_, and when Ivan pressed his fingers to his neck, he could feel a pulse. He exhaled a sigh of relief. He could potentially use this one.

Though Ivan was grateful for stumbling upon such a find, a true beauty at that, it seemed a bit peculiar that the human was out here alone. Most who strayed off into the forest either came with a group, or they were foolish children who'd fled too far from home. This one, however, was clearly a young adult. If Ivan had to decide on an age, he would assume the man was no younger than 18. Brushing the golden hair out of the youth's face, Ivan examined the sleeping boy's features. His skin was plush and soft, unmarred, perfect, and held a certain glow to it that the witch doctor found to be absolutely breath-taking. His hair was luscious and lustrous, pleasant to the touch and pleasing to the eye. The epitome of beauty, his body mystified Ivan with its innocence and purity; he was certainly blessed by the gods with his looks. Ivan pitied the poor creature for falling into his grasp, but he could not help the giddiness residing in his gut. He'd found the perfect sacrifice.

Ivan crouched down to his knees and picked up the boy's lithe body. He wasn't too heavy; Ivan could lug him back to the cottage, surely. Much to the witch doctor's surprise, the human didn't rouse with the movement. Instead he shifted in Ivan's arms, his eyes still closed, and made a small grunting noise. He curled up into Ivan's arms, nuzzling his face into his captor's chest. A pitiful sight indeed. Ivan wondered just how naive and carefree one could be that their conscious didn't alert them of a potential danger when they were being disturbed in their sleep. The idea that perhaps the youth _couldn't_ wake up also crossed his mind. Perhaps he'd been poisoned, knocked unconscious and robbed by his presumed "friends." That would explain why the boy didn't have _clothes_…

And that's when Ivan saw it.

His eyes widened considerably, and the witch doctor could feel the breath being knocked from him. He felt light-headed, his heart beating erratically in his chest, and he nearly _dropped_ the boy. Silver lashes fluttering, blinking rapidly, Ivan was curious if it'd just been his own traitorous eyes playing games with him. But the image_ remained_ and...he...it _couldn't…_

That _couldn't_ be the notorious birthmark on the boy's stomach.

The boy _couldn't_ be the sun god incarnate.

He_ couldn't_…

Nervously licking his lips, Ivan set the boy down onto the soft dirt once more, gently this time, splaying him out. Taking his water bag to his lips, the man quenched his thirst and then spilled some of the pure fluid onto his fingers. He rubbed the water in his eyes initially, hoping that the water blessed by the gods would clear whatever wicked trickery that was undoubtedly clouding his vision and creating such blasphemous illusions. The god of the sun only came to Earth once every couple of _centuries_, it wasn't possible that Ivan had just happened to stumble upon him during a stroll in the cold, frigid woods of _all_ places…

The birthmark remained. Right in the center of his belly.

Ivan felt as though he would vomit. He briefly considered the idea that perhaps the birthmark was fake, that it was just a dirt smudge that had coincidentally formed the _perfect, just right_ shape of the notorious birthmark. But he knew this was implausible. It was too correct. It was ingrained into the boy's warm, radiant skin. It was the exact shape in the exact area, and Ivan doubted that such a birthmark could just be coincidentally replicated by nature. This was _real_. His god, his beloved god was resting mere _centimeters_ from his body and…

And Ivan felt _unworthy_.

Why would his god appear before him? Why now? Why here? Certainly Ivan was more devoted to him than most in the area, but there had to be better followers out there, hadn't there? Ones that could present more lavish gifts, more frequent sacrifices. Ones that had better homes and better shrines and could devote _more_ of their time towards the god. Was this a mistake? Was someone else meant to stumble upon his body? Had the god meant to appear before someone who was just..._more_ than him?

Humility became Ivan. No, this wasn't a mistake. The gods didn't make mistakes; not ones like this, anyway. Ivan was meant to find his cherished god. It scared the witch doctor like nothing else ever could. And while he would be more than willing to kneel there and pray, panic, chant his ancient worships at a hectic speed and beg the gods for answers, Ivan knew he had a job to do.

Removing the pelt from his back, Ivan wrapped the fur around the boy's body, hoisting him up into his arms once more. He didn't feel comfortable physically touching the perfect being once more, not wanting to disgrace the god with his tainted hands. The frigid air bit at his exposed flesh, but Ivan held the god of heat within his arms, and he knew that he wouldn't freeze to death on his return if it were meant to be. If Ivan died during his journey home, it would simply signify that he was not meant to receive the god.

Ivan flinched this time when the boy huddled closer to his breast. The god was a warmth against his chest, and he felt even undeserving of that. He didn't deserve to be holding this wonder, even through the pelt. But alas, he had a duty to fulfill. So he kept the sleeping god firmly in his arms and began to return to the cottage, sacrifice forgotten. There was much to be done.

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I hope you enjoyed! :) Reviews are appreciated.

Ah, another multichap AU! I'm making a lot of these recently. I promise I'll update my older fics soon. I just keep getting new ideas.


	2. Chapter 2

**You guys are the best. I was not expecting such a reaction to my story, thank you all so much! I'm glad you're all enjoying it. I was originally going to update my other stories before I came back to this one, but my friends coerced me to write another chapter for this one. I don't normally update this quickly, just a warning to my new readers. However, I've been in a writing mood recently, so who knows? Anyway, thanks again, and here's chapter 2 :)**

**Warning: Drug usage?**

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By the time he'd reached his cottage, Ivan was absolutely freezing. His skin was flushed red with blood due to his body's desperate attempt to combat the cold. A numbness washed over him, and he was frigid to the touch, but the boy was still a bundle of warmth in his arms despite the harsh elements that enveloped them. Ivan considered it a definite indication of the boy's divinity.

Once inside, Ivan tenderly placed the boy on top of his wooden table along with his pelt. Immediately after making sure his god was secure, the witch doctor focused on his own bodily needs. He quickly retrieved some logs he'd stored, hastily throwing them into the fireplace. He lit a match and haphazardly tossed it onto the oil-soaked pile of wood, the allurement of warmth overthrowing any caution he might have normally possessed. Feeling the radiance from the blaring flames, Ivan allowed his eyes to fall closed as he inhaled deeply, finally starting to feel at ease. The heat melted the cool pit of anxiety that had clutched his heart, and the witch doctor began to relax. He would need to have a clear mind in order to perform his duties correctly and efficiently. He would need to be patient and calm in the areas where his master notoriously wasn't.

After standing in front of the blazing fire silently for a few moments, basking in the warmth and inhaling deeply as he felt his body release its frigid tension, Ivan decided it was time to move on. He needed to make preparations. For one, he was by no means fit to approach his god with his current appearance. He needed to make himself presentable. Ritualistically, it was crucial. As a petty human, he was inherently flawed by nature. His flaws needed to be disguised, especially whilst in the presence of a god known for being quite superficial.

He quickly began to wash himself. His ceremonial paints and markings that covered his body had been smudged by his trek into the woods, and he'd accumulated a decent amount of sweat and grime despite the weather. The water was cool against his pallid skin, and Ivan found himself yearning for the warmer months, but ultimately it was a refreshing sensation. While he would love to just sit in his water bin and soak for a bit, he needed to finish his preparations before the sun god awakened. So he quickly ran a washcloth over his body, scrubbed away the dirt and paint, and moved along.

His body paint was mostly red and black. The black was created from a special dye, the color used to symbolize his morbid reverence. Until the death, until the end, until it was all finished, Ivan was a dedicated servant of the gods. It was a promise of isolation, of loneliness, of celibacy. It was an emphasis on the ultimate sacrifice a human could give-their life. The black coated his eye sockets and trailed down his cheeks in singular, harsh lines, starkly contrasting his ghostly skin. The dark sockets reminded others of the eminent fate of all life, the lines running down his cheeks symbolized a lack of sorrow. He was accepting of his fate and showed no remorse.

The red was made with blood. It wasn't pure blood, but the organic fluid contributed to the color. It represented self-sacrifice. It revealed the dedication coursing through his veins, provided proof of his earnest and humble intentions. The gods were vital to his life and the life surrounding him; he would give everything at their will. The redness of vitality harmonized with the darkness of death. They balanced each other out, created an equilibrium. To symbolize the balance within, he used both colors when he painted his body.

Harmony and equilibrium were important in Ivan's religion. Without an equal balance in the world, chaos and destruction ensues. The gods play a crucial role in maintaining the balance, but they do not play it for free. They are greedy and selfish and demand subservience and praise in return for their mercy. Even then, they sometimes act on a whim, for ultimately everything they did was for their own amusement and pleasure. But Ivan had faith in his gods, and he represented this faith with physical portrayals of balance and devotion.

Once the paint had dried onto his skin, Ivan placed his necklaces of bones and beads around his neck. These were to ward off haunting, malevolent spirits, bad omens and evil creatures that lurked in the woods. They provided Ivan with protection in areas that the gods could not. He slipped on his hides and his pelts for warmth, though left his painted chest exposed. Without hesitation, he brusquely wrapped his silken scarf around his neck. It was the one article he owned that seemed out of place, seemed lavish amongst his humble personal possessions, but he refused to part with it. For sentimental and personal reasons, he could not.

Although he was physically prepared, Ivan knew that he was not in a spiritual sense. He wasn't struck with fear as he was earlier, but over the short expanse of time, the anxiety he felt had managed to creep back into his being. His god, his beloved god, was lying unconscious in the next room, and he would awaken soon. Ivan felt unprepared. If only he'd known about this previously, he would have bought exquisite gifts and precious gems, would have searched for a perfect sacrifice, he would have done _more_. But now there was no time, and Ivan would have to improvise. He would have to settle and give his god all of the meager things he could. He would have to hope that his god was merciful and would accept what he could give.

Ivan needed to calm his nerves and cleanse his spirit before he entered the god's presence once more. Negative feelings were dirty and disrupted the balance. Peace and tranquility were revered and necessary in such situations. Walking over to one of the shelves on the opposite wall, Ivan sifted through his numerous pottery jars. Each had different ingredients in them, different herbs, different incenses. Most were used in his creation of potions, but some were meant for burning and smoking. Some possessed the quality to filter out one's negative emotions, to replace them with feelings of peace. They relaxed his disrupted soul with their natural and blessed properties.

Finding the herb he was looking for, Ivan shoveled a handful of the ground-up substance out of the clay jar and placed it in a few of his burning bowls. He immediately lit them on fire, allowing their purifying and cleansing smoke to fill the room. Once the room had been clouded with a foggy haze, Ivan grabbed his pipe. It was crude and clunky, for he'd carved it himself, but it served its purpose. Blessings were engraved into its side, symbols etched into the smooth wood. He burned the herbs in his pipe as well and began to inhale their mystical properties. He prayed that the gods would give him strength.

Closing his eyes as the smoke entered his lungs, Ivan slowly exhaled it along with any impurities his spirit possessed. He sat down in a nearby chair and continued the process, gradually untensing and relieving his stress. As he basked in the smoke surrounding him, breathing it in and out at a steady and calm pace, Ivan felt more at ease, more relaxed. He leaned back in his seat and cradled his pipe, blowing out wispy swirls of grey. Everything had been washed away, all of his worries and trepidations, and the situation seemed brighter.

After Ivan had been smoking long enough to deem his spirit cleansed and pure, he set aside his pipe and stood from his chair. Enlightened and tranquil, the witch doctor put out the burning pots of herbs and retrieved a pail of blessed water. Now that he was sure that he was at balance, physically and mentally, it was time to prepare his god.

Ivan wasn't surprised to see the boy still fast asleep, right where he left him. However, he was curled up on his side once more, in the same position that the witch doctor had found him in the woods. Ivan briefly wondered if perhaps he should have left the boy with more than just his single pelt, but he knew better than that. The boy was a _god_, the god of heat at that. If he'd been fine lying in the cold dirt then surely he was fine lying in the heated cottage.

The witch doctor set his pail on one of the chairs beside him once he'd approached his god. The boy's chest moved as he breathed, his eyes twitching a bit though never opening. The god was _alluring,_ and Ivan had an overwhelming urge to touch the other. To caress his fine curves, glide his fingers over the other's smooth, soft skin, feel his radiant and enchanting internal warmth against his own flesh. But Ivan knew better and refrained from giving into such blasphemous temptations. He was only allowed to touch the other while performing his duties; any other contact would be an insult to his god's divine and superior being.

Ivan hesitated. The boy was just stunning...his beauty entranced the witch doctor. Ivan was afraid to touch him, afraid that his own unworthy hands would cause the other to wither. The boy seemed so delicate, so fragile in his sleep. So vulnerable. He reminded Ivan of a sleeping babe: small and soft, serene and innocent. The fetal position only emphasized his youth and childlike qualities. In this state, he surely didn't seem like the sun god he worshipped and cared for so dearly. However, the birthmark on his belly along with his inherent warmth and almost surreal physical characteristics proved that he truly was the sacred being.

When the boy's breath suddenly hitched, Ivan's heart stopped.

Ivan couldn't breathe. The boy's body shook and trembled, his limbs slowly sliding downward as he stretched. His eyes clenched shut, his nose crinkling just slightly with his contorted face. He gave off a small groan followed by a squeak, his back arching and his toes curling. It was adorable. It was beautiful. It was _horrific_. And Ivan could do nothing but stand still as stone, witnessing the awakening, simultaneously anticipating and dreading his master's reaction.

Golden lashes fluttered open, a sliver of vivid blue revealing itself to the world. The boy's eyes were _striking_ and immediately mesmerized Ivan, encasing him in a state of awe. Out of the god's every perfection, his eyes became Ivan's favorite.

And then there was a _shriek_.

The boy's eyes shot open, full and piercing as he scampered to a sitting position. He flailed a bit, his movements quick and finicky, twisting and entangling himself within the pelt surrounding him. His horrified gazed remained on the larger man, and Ivan, for the moment, could do nothing but reflect his master's horror. His confidence shattered when the god before him panicked. This was _not_ what he had been expecting.

Paralyzed with fear, Ivan did nothing but gawk at the other. Flustered and frustrated with his incapable body, and, noticing the other's lack of response, the god began to calm his movements. His gaze never left the witch doctor, and the witch doctor's eyes never broke contact with his god's. They continued with their stare-down for a long, excruciating interval of seconds before the boy finally summoned the courage to speak. "Where am I? Who are you?"

Ivan blinked, and his tongue felt leaden in his mouth. However, he was compelled to answer. "My name is Ivan, and you're in my home." It was vague, but the witch doctor couldn't manage anything more specific at the moment.

The boy didn't seem to hear him, for his widened eyes were constantly flitting about the room, taking in all the information he could grasp. "What am I doing here? Why am I naked? What do you want with me? Who even _are_ you? I don't…"

He brought his knees back to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, coiling up into a protective ball as his eyes finally ceased in their wandering and landed on Ivan once more. The witch doctor was dumbfounded. Was it possible that his god simply didn't _remember_? Uncertainty flooded Ivan's mind. He began to wonder if this were a mistake.

Ivan took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. No. This had to be his god. There was simply no other explanation. While he wasn't sure why his god was acting in such a manner, the witch doctor knew there _had_ to be a reason. And he would uncover that reason, one way or another. "I brought you here. I found you out in the woods, naked and lying in the dirt. Do you not remember why you're naked?"

The boy was trembling, not from the cold but out of fear. "N-no. I...I don't remember anything."

Oh.

_Oh._

Ivan's recollection of the myths and legends quickly flooded back into his conscious. Stories of the sun god's previous appearances on Earth, of his journeys and travels. The witch doctor knew _exactly_ why the boy held no memory of his god-status. He cursed himself for allowing himself to forget such details about his beloved god. How _could_ he forget?

The witch doctor smiled at the boy. It was meant to be good-natured and reassuring, but to the frightened human, it sent chills down his spine. "What? Do you know something? What do you want from me? Y-you're not going to hurt me, are you?" His voice became smaller as the questions progressed.

Ivan cocked a brow and suddenly became self-conscious. "Hurt you? Nyet...no, my dear sunflower, I have no intentions of hurting you." His voice softened, and he slowly approached the younger male. Despite the witch doctor's words, Alfred tightened his protective ball, tensing up as the other drew closer. Ivan didn't let it stop him.

Ivan grasped his pail once more, hoisting it up onto the table. The water had cooled by now, but it was no matter, for the boy was the god of heat. It would hold no effect on his consistently warm body. He dipped his washcloth into the lukewarm water, wringing it before he brought it to the god's forehead. The boy flinched, showing his evident lack of trust, but allowed the cloth the be swiped across his brow. Ivan hummed softly as he trailed the washcloth down to the boy's cheeks, scrubbing any excess dirt from his face. Although Ivan was content with the silence, his god was less patient. "Then what do you intend to do?"

A tranquil grin twisted Ivan's lips, and he paused for a moment in his gentle washing. He took the boy's hand, much to the other's distress, and coaxed it open with his thumb. When the god's palm was exposed, Ivan bent down and pressed his lips to the center of it, closing his eyes in reverence.

After a couple of moments, Ivan pulled away once more, but kept his god's hand within his own. The boy's brow was contorted with confusion, a slight flush tinging his cheeks. He parted his perfect lips to speak, to question the man's odd actions, but Ivan boldly cut him off. "I intend to worship you, my merciful master."

The god was stunned, and his blush deepened. He became flustered, for surely he hadn't been expecting such an intimate answer. "W-_worship_ me?"

Ivan picked up his washcloth once more and dunked it into the pail of water. He began to wash the boy's arm this time, dedicated to cleaning his god's body so that it matched the divinity within. "Da. I intend to worship you. Gods are meant to be worshipped and praised. They provide me with my every need, it's the least I can do in return."

"_Gods_? Are you trying to suggest…"

Ivan could detect the timidity and skepticism in the boy's voice. He looked the other dead in the eye as he continued to wash each and every individual finger on his hand, and replied, "You're the god of the sun. The god of heat, the god of fire. You provide light where there is darkness, you provide warmth in the coldest of winters. Everything I see and feel is the result of you. You give the world life, and for that you earn my eternal devotion. You give me life, and I do my best to return it."

The boy had stopped breathing, and Ivan could feel his rapid pulse beneath his fingers. His voice high-pitched, barely above a whisper, the younger male responded, "I...I think you have the wrong person. I _can'_t...I mean, I don't remember anything, but...but I know my name's _Alfred_ and I don't...I think I would remember something like that, don't you-"

"_Alfred._ So that's the name you've chosen for this lifetime." It seemed strange to Ivan, but no more strange than any of his other previous names…

"I_ really_ think you have the wrong guy." The boy's voice was pleading.

"And I know I don't." Ivan smiled, gently tugging on Alfred's legs, trying to get him to splay out so he could wash him properly. Alfred relented slightly, allowing the witch doctor to move his limbs into a better position. The boy's face still reflected his internal uncertainty, his worried and fearful mind, but Ivan continued with his actions. The cloth wandered down Alfred's stomach, swiping over his birthmark with ease. The mark persisted, as Ivan knew it would, causing the witch doctor to become more confident. That birthmark, that sunflower-shaped birthmark, that was all the evidence he needed.

A maniacal glint in his eye, amethyst met piercing blue, and the witch doctor murmured in a voice that was not to be argued with. In a voice that allowed no dispute. It loomed over Alfred, chilling him to his core. "_And I'll prove it to you._"

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Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated as always :)


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